


Put to Use

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Boot Worship, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitsunari finds another way to make himself useful to his new lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put to Use

**Author's Note:**

> Posted at the [kink meme](sengoku-basara-kink.dreamwidth.org) for the prompt "Mitsun shines Lord Motochika's boots. And enjoys himself immensely."

Mitsunari likes to make himself useful. That much hadn’t been hard for Motochika to notice, even when he had first come on board in a mass of barely restrained temper. But well, there’s liking, and then there’s liking. And now he’s seen Mitsunari in his spare moments reverently polishing what’s left of Motochika’s armor, or quietly coiling the rope that’d held him before he passes out, the pieces of what to do with him are finally starting to fall into place.

So far, it looks to be smooth sailing.

He crouches by Motochika’s feet, his brows knitted as though it takes his utmost concentration to hold Motochika’s foot on his knee and carefully scrub the dirt from his boot. Well, maybe it does; it’s been long enough since Motochika’s gotten around to taking care of them himself. But he’s never known Mitsunari to be bothered by being given a tough job, and besides, this gives him plenty of chance to make corrections. Give orders. Just how Mitsunari likes it.

“Hold it up against your chest,” he says. “You’ll have a better time getting everything from there.” It’s not wrong, and knowing Mitsunari he'll be glad to make his work ever more efficient. But even better is the look on his face when Motochika plants the sole of his foot against his chest, wide-eyed and swaying as though he were frozen in place. “That’s better, is it not?”

“Yes, Lord Motochika!”

It’s much better, now he’s kneeling up and Motochika can watch his face as he works, the way his expressions seem to follow the smallest of Motochika’s movements. If it were anyone else Motochika might think he’d been offended by the task, with his shoulders up around his ears and his lips pressed together in almost a grimace. But by now Motochika’s starting to recognize the focus behind it, and sure enough his breaths start to slacken as he works, all the intensity molding itself into simple steady work. Perfectly happy, by Mitsunari standards.

Now he’s within arm’s reach, Motochika doesn’t hesitate to lean down and stroke his hair, his jaw, catch his fingers on the boy’s barely-parted lips. Mitsunari nearly starts at the touch, as though he’d forgotten where he was altogether, looks up at Motochika through his lashes.

“Keep going.” It’s gentle, but no less an order, and the knowledge is enough to make Mitsunari gasp as he tucks his head back down, murmuring his acknowledgement.

He keeps up a patter of praise and direction, more for Mitsunari’s sake than his own. Really, his boots haven’t been taken care of this well in years; Mitsunari’s hands are streaked dark with polish, and he works tirelessly at every inch of them in steady inexorable rhythm, over and over until they shine. He’s started to get hard beneath the folds of his clothes, too, moreso with every order, but he keeps working as though he hasn’t so much as noticed it. Might well be he hasn’t - it wouldn’t be the first time Mitsunari’s gotten distracted from a little thing like his body, when he’s got a job to do.

Before long his boots gleam as though they were new, and Mitsunari’s breaths come in time with his own. He’s not satisfied, though - he lists forwards, halfway to a bow, pulls himself back and looks up at Motochika, almost desperate.

“Please, Lord Motochika.” He can’t keep himself still, can barely even wait to get the words out. “Please allow me to use my mouth in your service as I use my hands, please…”

Far be it from Motochika to deny him. “That’s right,” he grins. “Lick them til they shine. Show me how you serve me, Mitsunari.”

Mitsunari’s lips are on his boot so fast Motochika feels the moan that follows on his words, tongue pulling across the leather hot and forceful even through the thick material. Mitsunari licks his boots like he does any task he’s been set, almost violent in his intensity, gripping his heel in both hands to press his face even closer, and yeah, that’s something, all right, between his eagerness and the heat of his mouth on Motochika’s foot. He could definitely get used to this.

It can’t hurt to give him some more direction - or a chance to breathe, at that. “Take it slow there,” he orders, and Mitsunari shudders visibly with the effort but he manages, dragging his tongue deliberately across the length of his instep, just as tireless even when he’s slowed down. “Yeah, that’s it. Good boy.”

Motochika feels his moan as much as he hears it, muffled in the leather of his boot, and sure enough, now it’s his turn to feel himself harden. He palms himself through his trousers, languidly, lets Mitsunari hear his own grunt of pleasure. “My boots aren’t the only thing you’ll get to service tonight,” he says, and Mitsunari’s hips jerk like the words make him suddenly remember his own need. “I want that mouth of yours around my cock, too, taking care of it as well as you take care of my boots.”

He rests his other foot against Mitsunari’s shoulder, digs in his heel so he’s forced down, and gods, he’s practically humping the deck now, probably doesn’t even realize it. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, nothing new but that’s all right, he’ll tell Mitsunari as many times as he needs to hear it. “Mine to use, just like this. Your hands, your mouth, all of it. I’ve got you, Mitsunari.” And Mitsunari whimpers into his boot and doesn’t stop, licking steadily between frantic sounds.

He doesn’t get up, even when he’s finished, just bows his head and lets his cheek rest on the instep of the boot. Relaxing, by Mitsunari standards. He even leans into Motochika’s hand as he lifts his face from the ground, lets him run his fingers over wet reddened lips and moans almost too softly when Motochika reaches round to cup the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Mitsunari murmurs, the words running together through swollen lips. “Thank you, Lord Motochika, thank you for letting me serve--”

He’d go on like that forever, if Motochika let him - but there are much more interesting things at hand. “And a good job you did of it,” he says, strokes Mitsunari’s hair and watches the joy spread across his face.

“I am honored to be worthy of your praise!”

Motochika grins, nudges Mitsunari’s legs apart with his foot. “Looks like you were having your fun as well,” he says, and rubs his booted foot over Mitsunari’s cock, standing out clearly in outline through his clothes.

Mitsunari winces, bobs over his foot like he can’t decide whether to shrink back or to hump his leg. “My lord-- you-- you’ll soil…”

"That's no problem," he says cheerfully. "You can always clean them off again." And Mitsunari groans, and jerks forward onto his boot, and comes in a mess of shuddering spasms.

He’s hardly recovered before his lips are once again pressed to Motochika’s boot. The mess is in his own clothes, more than anything, but that doesn’t stop him from licking it clean of any trace, working his tongue into the stitching until Motochika pulls him up again.

“You can worry about that later.” He grins as Mitsunari kneels up, still shaking from his orgasm, wraps his hand in his hair and pulls him in close. “I told you, I’ve got more than one thing to do with your mouth tonight.”

Mitsunari gasps out his exaltation as Motochika bares his cock, and Motochika gladly lets him put himself to use once more.


End file.
